


Passenger

by TangyPeach



Category: Political RPF
Genre: "Foreign Aid", Ass Play, Borderline Fisting, Insinuation of on and off relationship, M/M, Putin makes Bashar wear a jock-strap, Road Trip!, Slight anilingus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangyPeach/pseuds/TangyPeach
Summary: Bashar takes Putin for a ride out of town.Graphic sex ensues.I initially made an inside-joke with my friend, seeing interviews and saying "Putin has his fist 10 ft up Bashar's ass" Annnnnd... one thing turned into another.
Relationships: Bashar al-Assad/Vladimir Putin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Passenger

**Author's Note:**

> I'm essentially dumping every last fic I had from my pastebin and sharing it to to Archives. 
> 
> Oh, and for the sake of easy-listening (& fic inspiration): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9ly8JogOKg

Putin & Bashar had a very special "relationship".  
Both helped each other. Both looked up to each other. Both would go as far to call each other their strongest allies.

Negotiations didn’t entail just talking. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin found it bizarre how Bashar drove his own car all by himself-- all the more reason to prove Bashar needn't worry nor fret with his own people. Although he wasn't any different, suppose Putin could learn a thing or two from him. After making a few state-monitored rides around the city, Bashar headed-- to where? No one but him knew. Somewhere (almost) completely isolated!  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You almost rode us off a cliff" Putin chuckled, looking at the hilly altitude as they drove further up a mountainside.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was Winter time in Syria; the air being slightly chilly.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Their clothes were rather informal for the occasion-- the Syrian dictator wearing a long-sleeved sweater-- the Russian president wearing a V-neck pullover.  
Bashar had the splendid idea of taking the President somewhere-- somewhere completely free from the stress of bodyguards, people, and the likes.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They were some ways away from Damascus--, Bashar managing to steer off to to some lesser frequented roads and detours.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Trust me on this, Vladimir." Bashar raised a hand as he talked,: "You won't be disappointed."  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I'm already impressed." Vlad smirked, noting how their current location warped the city of Damascus in it’s scenery. "But tell me, are we really just doing ‘business’ or did you just want to run away from your problems?"  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Hush," Bashar chuckled, “You need a break as much as I do, don’t you?”  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The conversations that Putin and Bashar had during the road trip was enough to put him at ease as they spoke politics, geography, and atypical, unprofessional banter. Putin and Bashar avoided any affectionate actions for obvious reasons-- further suppressing themselves.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Much of Syria’s buildings were dilapidated-- except for the very few very wealthy Syrian homes that they drove by. After entering a gated enclosure, revealing an unassuming, quaint medium-small house-- a place where Bashar went for domestic get-away’s when he needed to de-stress-- the Syrian parked in front of the house, switching the gear and unlocking the doors.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Is your secret service still tailing us?” Bashar joked, smiling with mirth.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“They know that I know how to use a gun.” Putin ensured, nudging the car door closed as he held an expensive sling-bag over his shoulder.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was Bashar’s first time inviting the Russian President here-- The first time he invited any world leader here for that matter, except for the few occasional close friends-- and Bashar was rather nervous to see where this would go.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As they got to the porch, Bashar unlocked the front door-- leading them into a house that looked fancier inside than it did on the outside-- there being a large living area, a spacious kitchen, a simple washroom; then a stairway that led to an office room and bedroom on the second floor.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar cordially beckoned Putin over as they both entered the living room.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“No terrorists here.” Bashar exhaled, pressing his hands together as he turned to Putin. “Now, where were we?”  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin had that typical devious smirk that he always had.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Let’s... Sit down and drink first.”  


⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As they both sat on the main loveseat, Putin poured themselves a good amount of vodka in the tiny glasses: “You’re skinny, so you don’t need much alcohol to get drunk.” Putin jested, passing Bashar the shot glass.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You’re right.. but I could use a snack with this.” Bashar insisted, and as if on command, Putin retrieved a wrapped up container of Baba Ganoush:  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You were saying?”  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“How did you...” The Syrian stuttered, but then smiled. “You can do anything, Mr. Putin”  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀After retrieving some pita’s from the fridge, Bashar did his all time favourite thing: tasting baba ganoush.  
However, after a few dabs of it, he noticed Putin looking at him slyly-- sitting directly in the corner of the sofa as his arm draped over the back and seat of the sofa-- empty vodka glass in his hand-- not even near the other man.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Heheh.. I think I’ll drink after you now.” Bashar chuckled nervously, bringing it to his lips. He cringed a bit-- hating the pungent taste of it but it helped him nonetheless. The pita he ate before would have helped absorb the alcohol, he was certain.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“So. We’re alone, finally.” Putin remarked, “I think you should check the back-leg of this sofa. It tilted a bit before you came back to sit on it. Perhaps you should... take a look.”  
Bashar looked confused, but confided: “Of course I will.”  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Keep your weight on it, too.” Putin twirled his glass. “So I can show you what I mean.”  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar was bad at catching the hints, bringing his legs up onto the Sofa cushion-- checking the opposite end of it-- bending his body in a way that where could observe the ‘couch leg’ in question, to fix it later on but wait a second-- God, he finally figured out where this was going.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Without even much warning, Putin lunged at him-- tugging Bashar by the belt-hoops of his skinny jeans as he dragged his backside closer-- and it didn’t take much effort to lift the lithe Bashar Al Assad.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Lie against the arm” Putin demanded, and Bashar did just that-- stomach lying on its ledge.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Did you put on that gift that I gave to you?” Putin cooed, hinting to the package he left for Bashar to open prior to their meeting.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Unfortunately, that I did.” Bashar chuckled nervously, tugging the collar of his sweater.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin positioned Bashar in such where his bum was pointed up, shoulders straight off of the couch as he held onto the arm of it-- a comically recognizable sex pose.  
Great.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar, unlike Putin, was less than amused by the spectacle.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin’s hands fumbled with Bashar’s belt assertively, unhooking it and swiping it off in one simple motion. Putin then clasped Bashar’s ass through his Jeans-- a muffled-slap against the constricting material-- causing the man to sigh.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I hope you don’t mind.” Putin murmured, “But I’d like to fuck you with your clothes on.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin yanked Bashar’s skinny jeans, tugging them outward as Bashar kicked them off.  
Bashar had indeed worn the jock Putin had gifted him. Was he even comfortable wearing them this whole time? No. Did Putin seemingly care? No. Did Bashar hate that he'd have to wear them this whole time now? Yes.  
But God, did they look sexy on his his lean Syrian ass.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin noted the straps in particular - - even if the one he bought was a size small, it still loosely went across the small of his back, the other going down his thighs-- both a separate colour of green and red, mocking the Syrian flag colours. It fully covered up his crotch area but left his ass exposed to the air; almost making Putin drool. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin sure had a sick sense of humour sometimes. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Russian had restrained himself long enough-- not even as much as touching him until this very moment-- and unleashing his urges felt explosive. They both were now in a secluded quarters with no such prying eyes or ears to disturb them anyway; they could yell all they wanted. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin grabbed Bashar, inquiring:  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"do you want more foreign aid, yes or no, Bashar?".  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar hummed, feigning annoyance; "Y-yes."  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" Good." Said Putin. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Putin spat in him, his thumb then massaging the area gently; he had lube, of course he did-- but Putin wanted to do something else first. And his heart fluttered at the mere idea of doing that certain act this entire trip.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He pressed his face against his entrance voraciously-- dabbling his tongue both around and inside him.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar arched his head back as he felt the intrusion, feeling himself grow rock hard the more Putin dived with his face. He felt disgusted at the act but also salacious about the whole ordeal--Bashar finding it hard to restrain himself as he found the act both ticklish and surprisingly, very hot.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar sighed deeply as he felt the Russian tug Bashar closer-- that feisty tongue once again wagging up and down his taint, then with precision on where he needed it more-- causing the Syrian to yelp. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Clearly Putin had been staring at Bashars ass the entire trip for this very occasion-- but Bashar refrained from commenting-- out of politeness.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀After pulling his face away, Putin took out lube from his pocket - - one that promised to be long-lasting, stringy and thick as he played with it between his fingers-- it soon fully covering it in his digits.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin kissed his behind once, then continued to massage his entrance again, until his pointer digit smoothly slid in.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar flinched, his face in his hands as he felt Putin experimentally flick inside him.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar was typically very quiet during sex-- especially when Putin took the role.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀However Putin calmly said in his spry, Russian voice: "It's okay if you shout. I wanna hear you shout."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Bashar, although not very used to the foreplay aspect of their sexual forays, felt like this was all brand new to him-- and reacted accordingly. Putin was more gentler with him this time, contrary to the quickie-sex they'd usually have. Typically the both of them would usually get it over with due to their busy schedules, but now they had all the time in the world. Whether it was a bad or good thing was yet to be decided.  
So, Putin took his time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Slowly but surely, his first finger then become two as he started sliding in and out-- causing the man to shudder. "Raise yourself." Putin said as he stopped, patting Bashar's thigh.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Although Bashar had his dark turtleneck still on, he still felt completely exposed. He raised up his ass, further sliding his body off the couch cushion from his chest up. Putin wanted to finger-fuck him at more of angle so Bashar could get the best out of this.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"We could continue this in the bed..." Bashar asked shyly, and Putin simply looked on with blank entrancement: seeing the smallest smidgen of lube spilling out of his Bashar.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"No." Putin said. "I like seeing you squirm against the couch."  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar threw his arm around the couch’s back as he lost his balance. "What? Are you kidding me-- I’m about to slide off."  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin snickered: "I am kidding, for the most part. We'll go upstairs in a little bit. For now, you hang on tight, Mr. Al-Assad." Putin assured, petting the fabric of Bashar's back-- finding the situation both kinky and amusing.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Although Bashar leaned over the ledge with both hands tucked beneath him, Putins strong hand now gripped Bashars thigh, not daring to let that “fall” happen.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the remnant of lube that Putin had laden his ass with, The Russian pushed his thumb into his hole, not daring let a drop escape-- and as he assured to the Syrian, he would be more possessive over Bashar than he’d ever been.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar could feel the thicker digit as it skated around, and he hated how it hinted on what was to come-- he could feel himself get hotter at the thought.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Perhaps the Syrian preferred getting these gruelling sex sessions over with-- but he welcomed it all the same. Oh, how Bashar thought, it was a wonder how bottoming felt more exerting than being the top.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin pulled out, then replacing his thumb with his pointer and middle finger-- scissoring both inside him.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar bit his lip at the action, careening his head to the side as he tried to regain balance from the awkward position.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Bearing well?” Putin asked.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh, just great-- I, Oh!” Bashar cried, feeling Putin sliding a third finger without warning-- and Bashar’s leg twitched the more he compensated with his body.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“One more,” Putin assured calmly-- noting how wet Bashar’s thighs were getting from the ridiculous amount of lube he was using: “Sorry about the mess.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“..Better safe than sorry.” Bashar tusked, already lifting up his sweater half way as he prepared for the last finger--. Every finger Putin had inserted were triangular in technique as to not spread him wider and cause any further discomfort-- not just yet, anyway. Putin inserted his pinky last, and then began thrusting his fingers (excluding his thumb) ever so slightly-- and so, per usual, Bashar reacted.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Ya ‘iilhi!” (Oh God) Bashar groaned, letting Putin in-- feeling his body retract around the Russian’s digits. Bashar would have fallen off if it weren’t for Putin grabbing onto him, but now he was gripping onto the sofa’s back like his life depended on it-- and Putin slowed down, but kept increasing the depth.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ah ah ah--” Bashar’s voice felt so small as he exhaled, Putin attempting to push all his digits in at once. And just like that, Bashar couldn’t contain his voice anymore-- grunting with every full-feeling thrust-- feeling like such a whore as his ass allowed Putin’s fingers to roll-up all the way to his knuckles.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Putin smirked, knowing he had succeeded in spreading him open-- pulling his fingers out again and then pushing them back in-- and Bashar cried out again. He whimpered audibly as the Russian assaulted his ass repeatedly-- the wet, lube-y sloshing sounds arousing him further as Putin fastened the pace. The more Putin continued, the more familiar he grew in tune with Bashar’s autonomy-- locating his prostate and focusing it-- stroking it with his fingers.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bashar gritted his teeth harshly, the fire in his loins increasing, the pit in his stomach growing sore from holding his position. Spittle formed around the Syrian’s mouth as he absentmindedly moaned, feeling Putin’s finger now dart downwards and directly onto his sweet spot-- nearly closing towards Bashar’s first fist-induced climax until--.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Money down the drain.” Putin said with a smirk, noticing the tear in leather from the sofa they sat on-- and Bashar replied shakily:  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“As if I’m not one of the richest in Damascus.. I could replace it, if needed” Bashar chuckled, although hating the prospect of having to get a new one.  
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh shucks, Bashar. It’s my fault for suggesting we stay here.” Putin shook his head, thinking of a ways to compensate for it. “We can continue this in your bedroom now, beautiful.” Putin sarcastically commented, lowering his arm to caress Bashar’s cheek.

The Syrian collapsed in exhaustion.


End file.
